


Lead Me Home

by burning_spirit



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: After the Credits, Amnesia Recovery, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Cat Spock, Chubby James T. Kirk, Commute, Confessions, Cuddly Spock (Star Trek), Domestic Fluff, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eye Sex, Family, Family Secrets, Feels, French Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Gentleness, Hand & Finger Kink, Holding Hands, Hugging, Hugging/Embracing, Hugs, I hate Carol Marcus, Idiots in Love, Insecure James T. Kirk, James T. Kirk Has Issues, James T. Kirk Loves Spock, Kirk is hopelessly in love, Kirk speaks Vulcan, Kissing, M/M, Married Couple, Married James T. Kirk/Spock, Married Life, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Neck Kissing, OTP Feels, Old Married Couple, Old Married Spirk Challenge, Overwhelmed, POV First Person, Pet Names, Pon Farr, Romance, Routine, San Francisco, Slice of Life, So Married, Sorry Not Sorry, Sort Of, Space Husbands, Spock Loves James T. Kirk, Spock is hopelessly in love, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, T'hy'la, Temporary Amnesia, Tenderness, Touch Telepathy, Touching, True Love, Vulcan, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Bond, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Kisses, Vulcan Language, Vulnerable James T. Kirk, Vulnerable Spock, Walking, after work, but it's mild i swear, deep conversation, head canon, k/s - Freeform, light humor, lots of eye sex, marital routines, mostly - Freeform, no actual sex but give me a chance, old married spirk, otp, probably OOC but see if I care, so in love it hurts, spirk, spoilers for like all the original Star Trek films, terms of endearment, vulcan hand porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 06:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burning_spirit/pseuds/burning_spirit
Summary: A freshly-demoted Captain Kirk and his recovering amnesiac husband, Spock, have a heart-to-heart during their commute home from Starfleet Headquarters.Set at the end ofStar Trek IV: The Voyage Home, between the Federation Council scene and the crew’s arrival aboard theEnterprise A.  First-person, Kirk’s POV.





	Lead Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as a flash-length one-shot in, like, the summer of 2017. It is only finished now (and sooooooo much longer and more detailed) because of the Old Married Spirk Challenge 2018, hosted by the inestimable plaidshirtjimkirk. I am extremely grateful for the Challenge actually motivating me to finish this, and to plaid for hosting it!!!! (I love you, plaid!!!! You're my K/S hero!!!!) <3 <3 <3
> 
> Please refer to the end for Vulcan translations and more thoughts. (My end notes were too long for AO3's format, so I put the glossary just above the actual "end notes" section. :))
> 
> As always, a gargantuan special thanks to Amelia_Elizabeth, willa_belle_m, and winonakirk57 for their beta services!

“See you around the galaxy,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.

I smiled fondly but tiredly as Gillian pulled back, all full of youthful energy and anxious to begin her new assignment.  It was, admittedly, a bit of a relief to watch the lavender sleeves of her uniform bounce out of my line of sight behind a wide, dark brown robe.

Despite his never particularly warming to me, I admit that my father-in-law cut an impressive figure in the thinning crowd.  He and I had already bid one another farewell, so I hung back by the vacant Council seats to give him and Spock room for their leave-taking.

I had to remind myself that theirs was not actually a strained relationship anymore.  Their hot-and-cold history coupled with the impeccable formality of Vulcan tradition tended to leave me thinking they weren’t getting along.  In fact, the opposite was finally true.

Lady Amanda had made a point of contacting Spock at regular intervals for at least as long as we’d been working together, but Sarek had rarely joined in their correspondence.  In all the years that Spock and I had known each other, I had only interacted with the ambassador a handful of times, whether in person or over the airwaves.  He hadn’t even altered this pattern after Spock and I had our marriage and official binding recognized on Vulcan, which I now realize probably should not have surprised me but at the time had me rather put out, regardless of Spock’s insistence that I not take his father’s behavior personally.

Since his _fal-tor-pan_ , however, Spock had seemed to connect to him with a closeness they never achieved before the events surrounding Genesis.  Perhaps Spock’s rare and yet thoroughly Vulcan experience with death and rebirth had elevated him in Sarek’s perceptions.  Maybe it was simply the revelation that he had come dangerously close to losing his son that caused the man to come around.  I’m sure I’ll never know, but I like to think that by proving our devotion to Spock through it all, the crew and I may have had a hand in reassuring Sarek of the validity of his son’s life choices.

Although they were still the posterchildren for sangfroid, I now found myself thinking that Spock and his father had never looked more alike—and that it was because Sarek seemed a little more at ease rather than Spock more straitlaced.  I couldn’t suppress a grin as they spoke in their quiet, dignified manner, barely audible even though the Council had dispersed and I was mere meters away from them in the otherwise empty chamber.

From my vantage point, I could discern that they were speaking in their native tongue—why shouldn’t they be, after all?—but given the general lack of expressiveness in their dispositions, and the fact that I had never quite gained fluency, I really couldn’t decipher the overall timbre of the Vulcans’ parting conversation.  Whatever the nature of their discussion, the important thing was that they were talking, and without any readily apparent hostility.  That fact alone made me smile.

That and my husband himself.  Spock was an absolute vision back in his burgundy uniform.  It had been too long since he’d donned his Starfleet colors, and I could feel myself staring again.  When he’d stepped in line beside me not ten minutes before, I’d hardly been able to take my eyes off him long enough to face the President as he read the charges against us.  And the blush I’d flirted with when Spock proclaimed he would stand accused with us resurfaced as I watched him salute his father and turn on his heel to walk in my direction.

Before I met his gaze, it occurred to me (although not for the first time) that perhaps the most recent uniform redesign was done specifically with my spouse’s body in mind.  His long, thin legs, accentuated in all the right places by that flared hem, brought him closer to me just as gracefully as ever, his posture impeccable in the tunic that I consistently felt strangled by.  And I dared not let my eyes linger too long on the high trapunto collar; as he knew all too well, the sight of Spock in a turtleneck never failed to drive me absolutely crazy with lust.  There was just something about his beautiful neck—one of those secret Vulcan erogenous zones I found most captivating—hiding demurely behind a fabric shield all day just for me, just waiting to be delicately uncovered and tenderly caressed and ravished by eager fingers and lips, making him sigh and moan in the most irresistible ways…

But I digress.  When Spock instinctively took my proffered right hand, and let his index and middle fingertips graze mine in a lingering _ozh’esta_ , I could feel him absorbing all the thoughts and emotions racing through me even as I picked up on some of his.  We walked out of the Council Chamber side by side, our fingers doing the communicating (and a not insignificant amount of Vulcan kissing) for us as we moved outdoors into the pleasantly temperate and remarkably clear San Francisco night, officially off duty.  I sensed him keying into my only slightly embarrassing arousal, and I felt his own delight and pride nestling comfortably into my consciousness.

Without so much as a word spoken out loud, we boarded our usual automated shuttle for the ferry ride across the strait.  Since our leisurely departure from headquarters had afforded us a private transport, I covered our joined hands with my left and let my head settle on Spock’s shoulder for the brief trip from Marin County to our side of the bay.  At that, he placed his free hand on my knee and rested his own head against mine.

Focusing hard like he’d taught me to so long ago, I pushed my love and affection through our fingers to let him know how safe and happy he made me feel.

The dark blanket surrounding the city outside the shuttle’s viewport was dotted with streaks and pinpricks of light—glittering rainbows below us and silver-white sparkles up in the heavens.  Everything else looked like a seamless stretch of black, the water and sky inseparable at our altitude.  No matter how many times I made the commute to headquarters (or to the stars, for that matter), the dazzling spectacle of San Francisco never failed to humble me.

“Our city,” Spock murmured into my hair, as if on cue.

I squeezed his fingers with joy.  Evidently the sight of the metropolis through the window had reminded him of all the times we had flown home and I’d whimsically remarked that various points of interest along the way were ours.  _Look, honey, there’s our bridge_ , I would say.  Or _our_ harbor, _our_ beach.  His pattern was then to inform me that although we lived there, the Russian Hill neighborhood did not, in fact, belong to us, or that we had neither exclusive nor even legal claims over the Presidio—or whatever it was I had declared ownership of at the time.

“All ours,” I said with a satisfied sigh, kissing his fingertips with my own and closing my eyes.

He responded with a more intimate sweep of his fingers across my knuckles and a delicious hum that ricocheted through my whole body (albeit some parts more than others), a sweet, seductive torment that threatened to undo me.

All too soon, a smooth landing and a gentle pressure on my knee signaled that we had arrived at the Battery East shuttle station, but neither of us made any move to rise.  The cabin lights came up slowly and we simply sat for a minute or two, Spock apparently content to indulge my touch starvation.  His thumb rubbed back and forth on my palm, making my skin tingle.

In perfect sync, we reluctantly rose from our seats and disembarked.  We again agreed on our course of action wordlessly: given the lovely mild temperature and our mutual tranquility, we made our way on foot toward the Bay Trail for a leisurely walk home, foregoing the faster transportation options available at the station.

My heart fluttered at Spock’s gradual recall—or rediscovery, perhaps—of our old routine.  Before his death and _fal-tor-pan_ , we had usually preferred to walk the three and a half miles ( _three point three miles, Jim_ ) back to our apartment building in order to take in the beauty of our city, the ocean air, the relative solitude of the trail at dusk that left us feeling free to stroll along holding hands and simply talking with each other.  That is, unless we were both in the mood to get home more efficiently to _engage in sexual congress_ , as Spock used to tease—knowing, as he did, that I preferred to _make love_.

Since it was obvious Spock was lost in thought, I gave him his mental privacy, although our hands continued their dance.  We walked in companionable silence for a good long while.

In the meantime, I thought about our babies ( _they are domesticated animals, Jim, not children_ ), whom we’d entrusted to our neighbors’ care months ago, so I was anxious to get them back into their rightful home in the morning.  I was sure the cat was fine: she was in the prime of her life and the favorite of the sitters.  But Butler was an old dog, and I worried that he might not be much longer for this Earth.  It would be nice to spend some good quality time with both of them before we left on our next voyage.

 _We’ll get the babies settled before we leave tomorrow_ , I thought, _report to drydock to check out our new commission, maybe take her out for a spin, then spend the evening cuddling._

That thought reminded me that the Federation President hadn’t told us which vessel we had been assigned to now that the _Enterprise_ was no more.  Repressing the sadness of her destruction, I rather unpredictably felt a tickle of eagerness in my belly at the prospect of getting acquainted with a shiny new starship.  Well, one that was shiny and new to us, anyway.

Spock and I were already down the hill from the station and halfway across Crissy Field before he made a funny little sound in his throat and came out of his reverie.

“I feel compelled to congratulate you on your demotion, my husband.”  His deep voice mingled harmoniously in my ears with the sounds of slightly muffled traffic and the scrape of our boots on the odd mixture of sand and gravel underfoot.

“Why, thank you, _ashal-veh_ ,” I said, smiling up at him.  Turning my eyes back toward the horizon-dominating mass of Mt. Tam, I added with a sigh, “What a relief it’ll be.”

He didn’t immediately respond, instead rubbing his thumb over my knuckle a few times.  A late-night jogger was coming toward us, so I nodded my head and grinned at her as she took to the grass to fly by.  She smiled wide in return, no doubt thinking something along the lines of, _What an adorable pair of geezers._

“Are you relieved,” Spock said, “because this will allow you to once again command a starship, or because we are now, for the first time, equal in rank?”

My boot scuffed against the ground as I paused mid-stride.  “Hang on,” I said, almost in a stupor.

He waited until my eyes unglazed and I actually looked at him before giving me that sexy eyebrow quirk he knew lit my fire every time.

“Spock,” I started, still shocked at the revelation, and now also trying to ignore the beat my heart had skipped at his signature inquisitive gesture.  “You’re right.  We’re both captains.”

His second eyebrow joined the first in a look obviously meant to indicate that I was being more than my usual amount of obtuse.

I chuckled, feeling myself blush.  “I was so caught up in the moment, I hadn’t stopped to think that…”

God, but his eyes were gorgeous with the ambient glow of the city reflecting off of them—I could see that no matter how dark it was.  His hand was so heavy and familiar in mine, and I couldn’t have turned away from his infinitesimal smile for all the stars in the quadrant.  I wondered if I could have a coronary simply from his beauty.

 _Your blood pressure is within acceptable parameters_ , he said in my mind.

Squeezing his hand and giggling, I leaned close to give him a peck on the lips.  “You’ll stay with me though, right?” I said without backing away, only a little anxious at the abrupt thought that, given the circumstances, he might choose to take out a ship of his own.

His free hand stroked my cheek.  “Whither thou goest,” he whispered.

I could have stripped him naked right then and there.  I _didn’t_ , of course, but I very seriously considered it.

Spock must have sensed my exhibitionist inklings, because he stepped away and pulled me along behind him.  I could hear his melodious laughter in my head.

My stature and physique being what they were these days, I almost had to skip to come shoulder-to-shoulder with him again where he had pivoted due east and picked up the Bay Trail itself parallel with the shoreline.  And at that embarrassingly minimal amount of activity, I decided I’d had quite enough of my damn tunic, so I unfastened and yanked the breast flap down rather unceremoniously.

_The shape and color suit you well, despite what you think._

I glanced dubiously at my lover.  Apparently he was opting for non-verbal conversation since a group of Academy-aged kids had just come up alongside us, lugging a cooler toward the next little path that broke off to the beach.  Another several early-twenty-somethings were already congregating there and they were all hollering back and forth at each other.

_However, I must admit that your face is even better framed with the flap open in such a manner._

That made me chuckle under my breath.  (My annoyingly quickened breath at such light exercise.)

 _You should know_ , he went on, looking straight ahead, _that I am every bit as distracted by your appearance as you are by mine._

 _Please.  I’m so fat_ , I dared to think back to him.  Especially compared to the seven or eight strapping young men to our left, overtaking us even with that tub of probably-booze in tow.

 _Have I ever lied to you?_   He gave me time to roll my eyes before continuing.   _Your body is a haven for me.  Warm, soft, welcoming, as it has always been._

His fingers were so talented, tracing spine-tingling designs into my skin.

 _When I am being careless_ , he finished, _I still become aroused just by observing your figure and your confident movements._

It was consistently a bubbly, too-much-champagne-like sense of joy that spilled through me at hearing Spock’s deep, velvety voice inside my head like that, saying things that he knew would make my hopelessly romantic soul melt for him all over again.  I turned what Bones had always called my “heart eyes” up to his stoic profile as we bypassed the tiny boardwalk now crawling with partying beachgoers.

Spock’s outward manner betrayed nothing of the naughty scene from earlier that afternoon which he unexpectedly began replaying for me through our connection.  The marsh off to his right turned into a bizarre mental reflecting pool where I could see myself—naked in my office—seductively peeling his heavy wet robe off of him.

 _Stop it_ , I reprimanded, giving him a playful bodily shove with my right arm. _I’m too old, you know I won’t make it home if you get me hard out here._

 _Neither will I_ , he returned with an unusual tremor, _if you continue doing such unspeakable things to me._

Snapping to, I realized I was obscenely massaging the webs between his fingers.  Performing an act like that publicly on his home world might have gotten us arrested.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” I said aloud, pulling our linked fingers up to my lips so I could kiss the back of his hand, just behind his wedding ring.  “I swear I wasn’t doing that on purpose.”

“Of course not,” Spock said, a hint of sarcasm lacing his tone.  He couldn’t hide his cute little smirk from me, though.  “Regarding our earlier discussion, I can assure you that you have no need to worry.”

It took me a moment to remember that we had been talking about him potentially electing another charge of his own over accompanying me as Captain First Officer on whatever new ship I was assigned to.

“If you recall,” he was saying, “I have never had any particular desire to command my own vessel.”

We had lost track years ago of the number of times I’d reminded him he was more than qualified to lead a science expedition, as well as the number of times he had insisted on a lack of ambition and a more pressing desire to stay on Earth with me.

“True,” I said, “you have turned down your fair share of offers thanks to my selfishness.”

“You are well aware,” he said in his (extremely erotic) professorial tones, “that I declined such service of my own free will, even when you yourself all but insisted I ship out.”

My cheeks burned.  “And _you’re_ aware that I did that because I wanted to be supportive of you, right?”

“Yes,” he said, softer now, “and because the other admirals twisted your arm about it.”

“Can you blame them?” I said.  “You’re one of the best officers in the fleet, and they knew I had more leverage with you than anyone else.”  As a matter of fact, a certain vice admiral, whose name I had never been vindictive enough to share with Spock, had even suggested off the record that I withhold sex to convince him to take on a major voyage (a suggestion I obviously ignored).  “You would have been—you would still be—an outstanding captain on any starship.”

“Thank you,” he said, pushing a joyful crystalline sensation through his touch.  “Certain things simply became more important to me than active duty in the wake of our encounter with V’Ger.”

Spock chivalrously allowed me a moment to stare at my feet and try to get my goofy grin under control.

“Besides which,” he continued slyly, “you were living with me, sharing thoughts with me over our bond.  You _know_ I was happy remaining here, both our pairs of feet on the ground for once.  And you never truly seemed to object to my staying, anyway.”

“You were living with me, too, so you knew just as well as I did.”

We fell silent for a beat.  I recalled a few of the times we’d had this conversation before, and I knew Spock could hear everything rolling around in my brain.  But I also knew I needed to take my own advice: when we’d first gotten married—heavens, it seemed like half a lifetime ago—I had told him that Humans, being non-telepathic, often verbally reiterated our feelings to our partners as a way of indicating just how important something was to us, or to indicate that our feelings hadn’t changed over time.  I had also told him that, despite my having taken to the telepathic bond rather well, he should still expect me to frequently insist on voicing my thoughts out loud, or making him voice his.  (I believe my exact words had been, “We crave repetition… we _crave_ repetition!”)

“What I mean is, of _course_ I wanted you to stay,” I said.  “I wanted you all to myself.”

“A mutual desire.”  A burst of shimmering wine-red contentment flowed up my arm from his side of our connection.

 _How did I ever get so lucky?_ I wondered, breathless, for the trillionth time.

 _I marvel at my own good fortune every moment we are together_ , he thought to me.

“ _Glantau, osu_ …” I warned under my breath, kissing his hand with mine nevertheless.

He cleared his throat and picked up where we had left off.  “As I was saying, even when I was captain of the _Enterprise_ exclusively for cadet drills, I was grateful that she had been retired from active service and I was therefore not responsible for overseeing anything longer than the Academy’s training flights.”

“Hm, you did seem awfully eager to turn her back over to me on our way to Regula I.”

“Indeed,” he said, his voice low.

At that, I kicked myself internally for the can of worms I had reopened.  We’d gone through this dozens of times during our layover on Vulcan, but here I was flippantly talking yet again about the mission that had killed him.  (Me and my damn mouth.)

“Hey,” I said, gripping his arm with my free hand.

He looked into my eyes as we walked, his steps sure even as I had to lean into his side to avoid tripping.

“I’m sorry I keep bringing that up,” I said.

“It is quite alright,” he said as sincerely as ever.  His free hand covered mine on his arm in a reassuring caress.  “And you should cease apologizing for it.  That mission is bound to be the topic of many more of our conversations, my beloved.”

My insides squirming happily like they always did at his use of Standard terms of endearment, I nonetheless watched his profile as closely as I could in the low light, searching for any signs of discomfort.  As usual, though, he was being faultlessly earnest.

“You were just so handsome in your black robe that day,” I said, trying to lighten the mood—probably more for my own benefit than Spock’s.

“You mean when I relinquished command to your… more than capable hands?” he said, taking the bait (thank God) and brushing his two kissing fingertips against mine.

“Yes,” I said around a giggle.  “And I’ll never forget how shocked I was on seeing that monstrous IDIC tapestry that the graduates gave you.”

He shook his head in good humor.  “I was rather hoping to have it moved into our apartment so that we could both enjoy it.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“On the contrary,” he said.  “It made my quarters look like an opium den.  I would have used any excuse to get it out.”

“So that we could sell it, right?” I said, still howling over his opium den comment.

“Or accidentally misplace it in transit,” he suggested.

“Or accidentally incinerate it with our phasers.”

“A _damn shame_ it was destroyed on Genesis.”

Spock legitimately smiled down at me—well, as much as he ever smiled in his right mind outside the bedroom—and squeezed my hand as we laughed.  When the moment passed, he must have caught me trying to repress the pain in my chest as I stared at the flashing port and starboard lights of an airplane flying far overhead.

“Jim,” he said simply.

I swallowed hard and looked up at him.

“I regret that you had to sacrifice the _Enterprise_ for me.”

The small breakers made such a soothing sound as they announced their arrival on the shore, the rhythm of it all seeming rather loud in the silence that consumed our dialogue.

“Sweetheart,” I started, having to fight another catch in my throat.

We had come to the footbridge over the inlet separating the south and east beaches.  I pulled Spock to the rail overlooking the bay and glided my left hand up his right arm.  Cupping his cheek and adoring the way his head tilted into my fingers, I focused my eyes on his and stepped as close as I could.  As his free arm slithered around my waist, I massaged a tender _ozh’esta_ into the hand I was still holding.

“Oh, _adun_ … my darling Spock,” I said, stroking the beautiful pointed helix of his ear and the soft hair behind it.  “I wish you wouldn’t.  I don’t regret it at all.  In fact, I think it may have been the single best decision I’ve ever made.”

Pressing our mouths together, I felt my pulse accelerate with his tightening grip around my middle.  The warm wind of our bond swirled around us in our shared but not quite melded mental-emotional space.  I savored the cinnamon taste of his sensual lips, overwhelmed as always by his extraordinary cedar-like scent and the cool skin of his nose against mine.

A few seconds later, I moved away even though every cell of my body was urging me to forge ahead.  The gentle breath he took almost made me change my mind.

“Our silver lady,” I said, “was the first home we shared as a couple.”

He started to make his glorious purring sound when I slipped my fingers into his hair.

“She brought us together,” I went on, “and she brought me back to you.  She played her part in our great romance.”

Desperate to hear more of his feline hum, I rubbed my thumb against the little spot tucked behind his ear that always turned up the volume.  His eyes shut and the corner of his mouth gave an adorable twitch that I leaned in to kiss.

“We should be grateful for the time we had with her,” I said against his lips, “and I think we both are.  But in the end, she was…”

I knew what I wanted to say, but it was one of the most difficult things I had ever tried to put into words.

Spock was the first to pull back this time, and he stared deep into my eyes.  His serenity calmed me, his entire body broadcasting support and understanding into mine.

I had to say it.  I _felt_ it.  And I could feel Spock feeling it.  But I knew what it would mean to both of us to hear me voice it.

“We loved the _Enterprise_ , as she loved us,” I said, getting a running start at it with another quick, deep breath.  “But in the end, she was just a ship.”

My husband’s melted chocolate irises scanned my face before he initiated another brief but tender kiss.

“You, on the other hand,” I said, no doubt clinging too hard to the back of Spock’s turtleneck.  “You are _everything_ to me.”

Without warning, Spock captured my whole mouth with his, plunging his tongue between my lips and lapping at mine with abandon.  His right hand had moved to the back of my head and was crushing us together with almost bruising intensity; it was pure heaven.  Meanwhile our still-clasped hands vehemently assaulted one another, his fingers seeming to try and caress their way into my very soul the way his luscious tongue was frantically licking into my mouth.  A powerful Vulcan heartbeat marked time against my lower left ribcage, tangible even through both our layers of cotton and xenylon.

I didn’t even notice when he repositioned us to dip me backward over the footbridge’s railing with the force of his kiss.  Yet when we both inevitably had to breathe, the air entering our lungs in quick, shallow bursts, there I was with a metal bar pressing into my back just below the shoulder blades and a horizontal stripe of dull pain accompanying it.

“Forgive me, dear,” Spock said, still breathing heavily against my cheek.  “I will be sure to massage your back when we arrive at home.”

All I could do in response was laugh and kiss him a few more times, petting the precisely manicured hairline just above his collar and savoring the vibration of his humming throughout my body.

“Nothing to forgive,” I managed to say, “although I’ll never turn down a massage from you.  And…”  I grunted unattractively.  “Well, you might have to help me stand back up properly.”

It was his turn to smile as he quietly eased me away from the rail, smoothing his hand along my back in the process.  He was already pushing his magical bluish-purple vanilla-scented healing energy through to my muscles.  The effect was one of deep relaxation and, not surprisingly, profound arousal.

 _You really must teach me how to turn down the magnitude of my body’s responses to your telepathic sorcery_ , I thought to him.  I slumped against his chest in a drunken haze of amorous surrender.

_As you are fully Human, I am afraid there is little I can do but continue conditioning you to further stimulation in the hope that it might desensitize you over time._

When he put it that way…

 _Never mind then_ , I replied, blissed out.  _But hold that thought for another forty-five minutes, okay?  It’s a miracle I’m not erect after that little stunt._

Spock chuckled through his sustained purr and simply held me while I got my bearings.  The vibration of his chest had me feeling almost drowsy.

 _Might I remind you_ , he thought, _that you, in fact, initiated all of that?_

I gave him a nonsensical whining sound and nuzzled into his soft white turtleneck.  When I teasingly slipped the index and middle fingers of my free hand into the back of his collar and placed a wet kiss on the underside of his jaw, he shuddered and held me tighter.

“You need a shave,” I giggled, tickling his seventeen-hundred shadow with the tip of my tongue.  “And maybe a neck rub,” I added, licking a trail of kisses down his jugular.

“Come, my love,” he said with another shiver, but eminently patient.  “I wish to see our apartment.”

Somewhat reluctantly, I let him tug me away from the stability of the railing and his arms.  We resumed our walk home, and I realized our hands hadn’t parted since we’d clasped them together in the Council Chamber.  For whatever reason, the thought pleased me greatly.

Then Spock’s last remark registered in my now-sluggish brain.

“ _Ha’su_ ,” I said, trying to keep my tone level instead of weepy and pathetic.  “You haven’t been in our apartment since…”

 _Since before you died_ , I thought, although I tried as well as I could not to.

He looked straight ahead, giving no physical or mental indication of his emotions.

“You know what that means?” I blurted out more energetically than even I was expecting.

An expression bordering on startled turned to stare at me.

“It means that this is a very special occasion.”

He raised his eyebrow at me in question.

The entire East Beach was empty, and there was no one within earshot of us on the trail, so I pressed on.

“It means,” I said, delicately running the fingers of my left hand over the knuckles I was clutching in my right, “that this will be our first time making love in our home.  You know… sort of,” I admitted.

Spock faced forward again, and he opened his mouth but said nothing.

“I’m sorry this didn’t occur to me earlier,” I said before giving a hollow laugh.  “Good grief, twice in ten minutes.  You must be wondering why you ever married such an absentminded buffoon.”

“Jim,” he said admonishingly.

“I’ve just been so preoccupied since we intercepted that probe’s signal,” I rambled, suddenly anxious for no real reason.  “Then there was the court martial when we finally made land today—”

“Jim.”

“—and I know we even talked about it a while back, but you’ve been so nonchalant about everything in your usual quietly supportive way,” I said, rubbing his arm, “and then you were so irresistible and sopping _wet_ when we got to my office—”

“James.”  The strength with which he gripped my hand shut me up immediately.

I looked into his eyes.  They were dark chasms of some mysterious emotion I couldn’t quite put a name to.

“You are _not_ a buffoon.”  The edge in his voice made me think perhaps it was irritation.  “You are, in fact, a genius.  You master everything you undertake, and you are an exemplary Starfleet officer.”

Somehow, I managed not to trip and fall face-first into the sand in spite of the fact that his phaser-like gaze had me completely stupefied.

“You are gentle, compassionate, uninhibited, loyal, trusting, charismatic, and possessed of the utmost integrity.”

“Spock, I don’t—”

“Desist, please.  I will not tolerate being interrupted on this subject.”  Why did his stern classroom timbre have to be so damn sexy?  “You take upon yourself the responsibilities of so many troubled minds, and you devise solutions to simultaneous overwhelming crises with unfathomable clarity and poise.  You instinctively see the best in everyone you meet, and you selflessly help them to become better than they are by inspiring within them a desire to make you proud.”

He pulled our linked arms up and stroked down the length of my sleeve.  His right hand grazed the skin of my wrist, sending sparks through me as if my nervous system was one giant electrical circuit.

“You have been my captain, my advocate, my caretaker, my rescuer, my friend, my lover, my bondmate, my husband, my very soul.”

With that, he brought the back of my hand to his lips.  There was such reverence in his gesture that I swallowed hard, ashamed for the millionth time that he had given his beautiful admiration to such an unworthy recipient.

“You are most certainly worthy.  And I have _never_ wondered why I married you,” he said.  “I married you because I fell madly in love with you.  I fell in love with you because _not_ to have done so would have been utterly impossible.”

I was speechless.

“We have already established the fact that I do not yet have access to the full range of memories transferred from my previous body.  However, our _t’hy’la_ bond is so strong that even as you held me on Genesis, I felt—instinctively—that we were connected, joined.  Even without my _katra_ , this body understood on a primitive level that it was meant for you.”

He hadn’t lowered our hands.  Our elbows, pressed into one another, were still bent; his free hand was covering the prolonged _el’ru’esta_ we were still sharing.

“As for the rest,” he said, “it seems that my… amnesia, if you will, is limited, for the most part, to minutiae.  I have vivid recollections of our walks together along this very route, for example, though I do not yet remember how many times we passed this particular bench, or what we were discussing the last time we removed our shoes and waded in the surf.”

The bench he had indicated with a nod of his head was actually where we had sat one weekend about a year ago while our feet dried off and he’d told me about a certain half-Vulcan, half-Romulan protégée whom he predicted would be the next victim of the _Kobayashi Maru_ exam.  Little did I know at that point that she would someday see my spouse through his new body’s first _pon farr_.  My heart ached at the thought.

“I can also visualize the layout of our apartment,” he added, “the textures of our furniture, the breathtaking view from our windows, the comfort and safety of our bed.”

I gave him a small smile at that.

“Perhaps I cannot as yet reconstruct the particulars: the components of our meals, the species of plants in the entryway, or the fragrance of the shampoo in our shower.  But I suspect that, just as our commute this evening has triggered several more detailed reminiscences where an hour ago were merely vague impressions of the environs, our arrival at home will very likely have the effect of causing me to rediscover many more of our cherished past conversations and liaisons.”

“Mm,” I said, “we’ve had plenty of unforgettable liaisons in that apartment.  I can’t wait to help jog your memory, and work on giving you some new experiences to cherish.”

But it was too late for me to play it off.  Spock had noticed the pangs of jealousy and nausea I had, childishly, once again felt at the notion of Saavik helping him intimately on Genesis.

We were approaching the end of the low sea wall dividing the trail from the beach, which meant we would be moving inland soon to get around the marina.  I turned my face north and inhaled deeply, the aroma of the bay imbuing me with the fortitude I would need for this topic.

“Sweetheart,” Spock said, his tone delicate, “you have told me on countless occasions that having thoughts and emotions expressed verbally allows you to understand and feel them more thoroughly.”

I nodded and hummed in agreement.

“You have further taught me that a verbal repetition of the same thought or feeling has the added effect of reassuring you.”

“Yes,” I said a little shakily.

“Then I feel it bears repeating now that I have only ever thought of Saavik as a _t’kam’la_.”

 _A what?_ I thought, reeling a tiny bit at hearing her name in his voice.  _Is that Vulcan for "mistress?"_

Spock gave a sad chuckle.

“ _Adun_ ,” I said, “I didn’t mean that.  I know you didn’t, eh… that it wasn’t your choice to…”

“I know.  Allow me to clarify,” he said, no doubt drawing from his endless reservoir of patience.  “A _t’kam’la_ is a student, one with whom a mentor shares a special intellectual connection.  It does not necessarily connote that they are the most brilliant or the highest achieving of one’s students, but rather that they share, in a singular manner, the authority figure’s curiosities, ethics, and sensibilities.  Generally, _t’kam’la_ is a term which indicates a student whom one comes, over time, to think of and respect as a son or daughter.”

Vocabulary lesson notwithstanding, I still had the weird sensation of my sternum being chewed on by a juvenile Mugato.  I knew it was illogical; Saavik had saved Spock’s _life_ , for crying out loud.  I ought to be grateful to her.  But instead, here I was resenting the fact that she was the one on Genesis with him while I had stupidly returned to Earth without even sensing that my soulmate—my _soulmate_ —was still there, regenerating and in need of my help.

“Despite the way my father made you feel,” Spock said, having heard my self-loathing inner monologue, “there was no way you could have known that I had transferred my _katra_ to Dr. McCoy, as I had never told you about the history of the _fal-tor-pan_.  There was likewise no way you could have known my body would be reincarnated on the Genesis planet.  Even the scientists involved with the original project from the time of its conception did not predict that anything of the sort would be possible.”

_Sure, but…_

“As I know you are aware, it is fundamentally illogical, then, to blame yourself for journeying home without my new body, and even more illogical for you to berate yourself for not yet being present on the planet to assist me through my… first _pon farr_.  By the time it came upon me, you had already discovered the circumstances, hijacked the _Enterprise_ , and covered a great deal of the distance back to me.”

“Still, I—”

“Furthermore,” he said over me, evidently still refusing to be interrupted, “what Saavik did for me during… during my Time was considerably less amatory than what I believe you have assumed.”

_Wait… what?_

Spock took a long, deep breath as we turned to cut across the marina’s picnic area.  He cleared his throat when I gave his hand a mild squeeze; despite how heavy my own heart was, this topic was much more difficult for him to speak of openly than it was for me.  My brain had finally registered as much, reminding me to slow down and take this at his pace.

Peeling my eyes in the darkness, I watched the schooners tied off at the docks up ahead as they bobbed in the light breeze.  We were approaching the tiny coffee and doughnut kiosk along the low stone wall of the marina, and I abruptly wished it was open; an iced mocha to share with my sweets-vulnerable husband would have been the perfect pick-me-up for both of us.  (Maybe Bones was right—maybe I _had_ started eating my feelings.)

It was probably for the best that they were closed, though.  Spock was opening up without needing the mild buzz, and I wanted him fully sober tonight.  Besides which, we had agreed even before we got married that neither of us would partake of intoxicants before making love.

Still, a chilled coffee and maybe a small doughnut would have been nice.

“Darling,” Spock said, regaining my attention.  “Were you not feeling self-conscious about your weight only a few minutes ago?”

 _Damn telepathy_ , I thought with a sad chuckle.

“I guess you’ll just have to satisfy my sweet tooth yourself, hubby,” I said.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said, his delicious syrupy voice creating goosebumps on my arms.  He surprised me with a quick peck on the cheek.  “As I was saying… What happened between Saavik and myself…”

 _Right_ , I thought dejectedly.

_Please, Jim.  I need you to know this._

_I’m sorry_ , I thought, my face no doubt as red as my tunic.

Now _Spock_ was squeezing _my_ hand in reassurance.  “I believe it will please you, actually.”

I turned my wide eyes up to him with more hope in my heart than I should have felt.

“What happened between Saavik and myself on Genesis was not… sexual in nature,” he said.

My chest pounded with poorly-restrained rapture.

“I have come to realize that you likely interpreted the circumstances as having been intimate, as I never gave you reason to believe otherwise.  I apologize for having misled you by withholding pertinent information.”

 _Is this my birthday?_ I thought, overjoyed.  _I couldn’t have asked for a better present._

“ _K’diwa_ ,” I said, “I’ve only ever just wanted to understand, I just want to know how best to help you.  And I never want to make you uncomfortable by forcing you to tell me more than you feel like you can.”

Our fingertips moved together in a grass green kiss that whispered with mellow trumpet tones.

“That being said, though,” I added, “I’m always happy to learn more about your culture, and your body.”  I grinned blithely.  “Especially your body.”

 _Easy, Kirk_ , I said to myself.

Spock’s laugh was such a beautiful baritone sound that I found myself craving more of it every time I heard it.

“Acknowledged,” he said.  “Typical Vulcans enter into their first… _pon farr_ … anywhere from immediately after the onset of puberty up to six years after.  Given that they are still—as Humans would say—teenagers, and on Vulcan are likewise considered too intellectually and socially immature to care yet for a family, they are discouraged from taking a mate during their first cycle.  Since most adolescents undergoing their first _pon farr_ are deliberately not yet completely bonded to their mates, they are guided through the ordeal by a family member or a local professional healer in a manner which does not involve intercourse.”

“That’s possible?” I said, still trying to reign in my euphoria.

“Yes.  There is a complicated meditation technique specific to the Time of Mating which allows the madness to be relieved.  Youths are therefore instructed in this technique as the symptoms overtake them, the whole process allowing them to avoid the risk of impregnation before they are deemed ready to bear or sire children.”

“But _you_ never meditated it away,” I said, puzzled.  “Last time, you took a whole week off from your training flights and we went up to the cabin to stave it off.”

While Spock insisted my temporary retirement at the time had colored my opinion of the week in question, I maintained that it had been a magnificent trip, despite his initial lack of self-awareness.  Does it get any better than making breakfast in bed for your thoroughly sexed-out lover before his early recovery allows for several days of horseback riding in the mountains and, well, even more sex?  (It does not.  I rest my case.)  We had really figured out the whole _pon farr_ thing that last time, really gotten good at it and trusted each other’s rhythms—so much, in fact, that I almost found myself looking forward to my poor lover’s next cycle.

“And when it came upon you after we’d settled down from the V’Ger mission, we holed up in the apartment since the _Enterprise_ was still being repaired.”

Also not an unpleasant time—for me, anyway.  It was messy but with a little trial and error, we had learned a great many useful things, not the least of which was how many days’ worth of groceries (and personal lubricant) to procure when the symptoms started to appear.  That was the first of his Times that we’d fully shared as a bonded couple, as the only other one he had experienced was when we had engaged in forced combat with one another, back on our original voyage.

“If you recall,” Spock said, “my Human blood spared me from the trials of the _pon farr_ in my adolescence and early adulthood.  I had never been afflicted with the madness until we were in our late thirties and it struck me unexpectedly in the midst of our five-year mission.”

“I do recall, of course I recall,” I said, a little affronted.  “But if there’s some kind of meditation that serves the same purpose as sex, why didn’t you just do _that_ instead of diverting us to Vulcan for the whole fight-to-the-death thing?”

“Because I never _learned_ the ritual meditation which serves that purpose.”

I wrinkled my brow at him.

Spock steered me left when we came to Marina Boulevard.  He had raised his voice slightly to account for our proximity to the road.  Thankfully, there weren’t too many vehicles or shuttles out tonight so neither of us had to talk too loudly or strain our ears.  (Admittedly, however, those were problems I suffered from far more than he did.)

“Consider, Jim,” he said, unshakably forbearing.  “If pubescent Vulcans are taught to meditate through their first Time only once they show signs of it taking hold over them, what would compel any of the healers or family members of a hybrid such as myself to impart that knowledge when the symptoms are never made manifest?”

I’d known ever since his “divorce” from T’Pring that Vulcans’ approach to sex ed was disturbingly vague, but I had never realized just how inadequate it truly was.

 _Sex and the_ pon farr _are in near-perfect diametric opposition to one another_ , Spock chastised.  _The Vulcan educational curriculum on sex is arguably more thorough than its counterpart on Earth._

_I know, I know.  I’m Human, we oversimplify and we equate apples to oranges.  Go on._

“When I still hadn’t gone into it by the time I left to join Starfleet, no one had any reason to suspect that I would ever experience the _pon farr_ ,” Spock said, “myself included.  Thus, when it fell upon me during our mission, I was unprepared for it in almost every manner.  I had never been in a position to learn the technique that relieves it by meditation, and there were no other Vulcans aboard our ship who could have guided me, so my only recourse was to return home.”

I pulled him against my side as another night jogger breezed past us.  He must have enjoyed the closeness, as he didn’t move to reestablish the little distance between us that had been there moments before.

“I might also remind you,” he resumed, “that the very existence of our primitive mating urges and rituals is a taboo subject on my home world.  You have helped me to understand that it is, perhaps, illogical that as a society we feel a collective sense of… shame over something that is a natural biological need.  Nevertheless, even though we feel no disgrace over our sexuality outside of the _pon farr_ , the Time itself is a private phenomenon still shrouded in secrecy and ignominy.”

His cheeks, I noticed on squinting, had slowly been greening as we dug into the topic.

“Indeed,” he said, “we only speak of it or acknowledge it when we absolutely must, when an individual’s survival is threatened by it.  Is it then any mystery that, never being presented with the necessity of coaching me through it, the adults around me were reluctant to volunteer such information to me?”

“No, you’re right,” I said, doing my level best to treat such a sensitive subject with the dignity and respect it deserved.  “So then… does that mean you just never learned how to meditate it away even once you started having your Times?”

“That is correct.  Our swift departure from Vulcan when I believed I had killed you meant that I had no opportunity to meet with any healers who might have given me at least some idea of how to manage the condition through meditation.  And, of course, by the time I experienced it again, I had an unparalleled mate to help me through it.”

Eyes passionate, he smiled at me and his fingers transmitted a beautiful sensation of gratitude that made me feel like I was slowly submerging myself in a refreshing, crystal-clear pool.

“At least,” I said, “you managed to sever what was left of your bond with T’Pring on that trip.  I suppose if you’d already known how to meditate your way through the _pon farr_ we might not have gotten that taken care of until… well, until our mission was over and you went home for the _Kolinahr_.”

“Honey,” Spock said, almost making me swoon, “even had I not entered my Time, I would have diverted us to my home world at our first opportunity once you expressed your affection for me.  As soon as you professed your love, I wanted nothing more than to dissolve the remnants of my superficial bond with T’Pring as soon as possible.”

I tried to bat my eyes at him with all the flirtatious energy I’d wooed him with back in the ‘60s.  It earned me an amused grin, so I guess that meant I still had it (albeit probably in a much smaller quantity than I’d had twenty years ago).

“That still doesn’t really explain what happened on the Genesis planet, though,” I said, picking up the original thread of our whole conversation.  “How could Saavik have possibly instructed you in this, uh… super meditation?”

“She is a mature female who would have learned the technique herself when she experienced her first Time, presumably as a young adult.”

_Whoa whoa whoa._

“Hang on,” I said, halting our progress down the pavement by placing my free hand lightly on his chest.  “Are you telling me your women go through _pon farr_ , too?”

He sighed as if he had just let a whole new cat out of the bag.  “Yes.  It is not commonly known among outworlders, but yes, Vulcan females also experience the Time of Mating.”

We resumed our course along the marina, but I was still flabbergasted.

“When I finally discussed my own _pon farr_ with my father,” he said, “he informed me that developmentally normal Vulcan males expect their Time every seven years.  Neither of us could be sure whether my Human genetics would continue to factor into my cycle, but, as you know, my subsequent Times were right on schedule according to the average for males of my species.”

“And for females?”

“In all honesty, I do not know.  My father mentioned that females do undergo it just as we do, but that little is known to us about their experience of it.  Perhaps they are better controlled during their madness; perhaps they only encounter it half as often.  All I can say with any confidence is that they are even more secretive about it than the males of our culture.”

“Good heavens,” I said.

Spock hummed in agreement.  “My father told me that his first partner—who was Vulcan—revealed to him only what her survival necessitated, and, given the need-to-know approach she had taken toward it with her own mate, he believed it would be improper for him to discuss it with anyone else.”

“Spock!” I said, more indignantly than I’d really intended.

“Jim?”

“Your father was with another woman before he met Lady Amanda?”  This evening was just full of surprises for me.

“Yes,” he said, so calmly and matter-of-factly that I couldn’t help but sigh in resignation.

“You never told me that,” I said under my breath, trying not to sound hurt.

We had reached the Marina Green, where I tugged him left and northward again for the last good waterside stretch of our commute.

“I did not mean it as a slight to you, sweetheart.”  He ran the back of his right hand along my cheek, always knowing how to placate me.  “On Vulcan, individuals’ romantic lives are seldom spoken of, especially when a partnership has ended in death or divorce.”

“Oh,” I said, sensing that he would appreciate it if I dropped the subject of his father’s love life, even though I was suddenly extremely curious about it.  “Well, so, anyway, what you were saying about Saavik is that since she would have learned the special _pon farr_ meditation as a teenager, she was then able to teach it to you on Genesis?”

“Precisely.  During our stay in Shi’Kahr after my _fal-tor-pan_ , she explained to me that she had assisted me through my Time because my life had depended on it, but that neither you nor I should interpret it as any indicator of romantic or sexual feelings.  I told her I appreciated that she had sacrificed her own privacy in order to spare my life, and that I value her as I might a daughter.  We then agreed that, it being in the past, we had no further need to even consider the incident.”

We walked a few paces in silence, the small yachts to our left creaking in that distinctly nautical way only a seafaring vessel can.  My heart felt overwhelmingly warm and protected and full.  It dawned on me for a moment that maybe all of this meant Spock wouldn’t have to take another mate once I was gone, and somehow that thought made me feel even more relieved.  Until then, however, I would still insist on helping him through his Times the, ah… fun way.

“ _Adun_ ,” I said, rubbing Spock’s wedding band.

“Hm?”  He followed my gaze to our joined hands.

“Thank you.”

“For what, my love?”

“For sharing so much of this with me,” I said, trying to keep my emotions at bay.  “For marrying me, bonding with me.  Twice.  For loving me.”

He smiled and massaged my fingers.  “It is not exactly a hardship for me.”

God, I loved it when he was cheeky.  It was so cute on him.  (But then, everything was cute on him.)

 _I wish to thank you as well_ , he said in my head.

 _Oh?_ I answered, wondering why he had switched to telepathy out of the blue.

_I find it exquisitely pleasurable to feel the sensual weight of your hand in mine, to touch your skin this way, and for such a prolonged period._

The subdued eroticism we had been sharing since we left headquarters came back to the forefront of our metaphysical dimension again, turning from a lukewarm and simmering daffodil yellow to the orange of a gentle rolling boil at his more deliberate caresses.

 _It is exhilarating_ , he continued, _to be engaging in such deep, intimate sexuality with you in… in public._

 _Why, Mister Spock_ , I teased, taunting him right back with a few salacious strokes of my own.   _Do you have an exhibitionist streak that you never told me about?_

 _Evidently_ , he admitted.

I could feel myself blushing, and when I looked up at my husband’s face I found that he actually looked even more wrecked than I must have.

 _I love you like crazy_ , I thought, _but we really have to dial it down.  You’re sweating, honey._

Amazingly enough, he seemed reluctant at the suggestion.

 _But it feels…_ he thought.

 _I know,_ ashal-veh. _So good._

_Yes, Jim..._

Stars help me, he _moaned_ in my head.

 _Oh, no you don’t!_ I thought, loosening my hold on him and desperately trying to ignore his crestfallen whine.  _If you keep tempting me like that, we’ll get ourselves arrested for public indecency right here on the grass._

As we turned right to follow the seawall, we both eyed the lawn in question as if we were seriously considering committing a felony.

 _No_ , I thought, laughing both internally and out loud.  _No no no no no.  We are not making love in a public park._

 _You cannot pull rank on me anymore, remember?_   Spock’s fingertips sought mine out ruthlessly, yet humorously at the same time.

 _True, but I could let go_, I threatened.

That seemed to do the trick.  He relaxed his grip and whimpered.

“As soon as we get home, kitten, I promise,” I muttered, maneuvering our hands so I could sandwich my arm between his arm and torso.  At the favorable purr he breathed right into my ear, I rested my left hand just above his elbow and tilted my face to nuzzle our noses together.

Spock dragged me to a stop, keeping his face close to mine.

A steady rhythm of placid waves lapped at the rocks a few meters away.

“I love you, James.”

My entire being just floated whenever my Vulcan said those words to me, especially when he used my full name.  I felt like I could launch myself right up into space.

“Spock,” I said, hopelessly enchanted by the way _his_ name felt on my tongue.  “Spock… I love you, too.  So much I sometimes feel like my heart can’t take it.”

He stroked the side of my face with his long, elegant fingers.  As he coaxed my eyes shut with his touch, I felt my resolve weakening and decided it was time to say what I’d been trying not to even think about since I saw him standing with Sarek in the Council Chamber.

“ _Tal-kam_ ,” I said, covering his hand on my cheek.  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you all evening that I know I probably shouldn’t bring up at all, which I guess is why I’ve been withholding it from the bond.  But I… now I feel like if I don’t say it, I might just burst.”

He kissed me softly.  “The likelihood of such a thing happening is so infinitesimal it does not even bear calculating.”

I smiled up at him.  “I know.  I just don’t want to sound… condescending.  Or nosy.”

Interlacing our fingers, Spock lowered both our sets of joined hands and faced me full-on.  His eyebrow ticked up and he waited for me to continue, as he always seemed to know I would.

“The thing of it is,” I said, looking to the dark vista around us.  “Well… I don’t know.  It’s probably none of my business.  And families are so hard, I mean, we’ve sort of already covered that ground tonight.”

“I believe in this instance Doctor McCoy might say you are beating around a bush,” he said good-naturedly.

I chuckled at the almost-correct idiom.  “Yes, yes he would.  And he would be right, as usual.”  Daring to meet his eyes, my breath escaped me for the umpteenth time.  I sighed fondly and said, “I’m so proud of you.”

My husband looked legitimately surprised.  But he said nothing, so I took that as a cue to go on.

“Seeing you talking with your father after the hearing,” I said, watching his eyes for any warning flashes, “I was just so happy.  I’m so happy for you and proud of you.  Both of you.”

He was likely unimpressed with my extraordinarily uncreative babbling, but I didn’t care.  It was important to me that he hear me say this.  I stroked his thumbs with mine and almost lost my train of thought before freeing my left hand again and guiding him to turn around.

“I never had issues with my father,” I said, pulling us back into our walk east along the water’s edge, but at a slower pace now.  “We had a strong relationship all along.  He was always supportive and… well, he was just always there for me.  I never had to experience the kind of distance from either of my parents that you’ve endured in the past.  I mean, of course we had our disagreements once in a while—who doesn’t?  But we were never estranged.  We were never _not_ on speaking terms.”

Still trying to gauge Spock’s reaction to all this, I cast a wary glance in his direction.  He was back to being as stoic as ever, no doubt waiting for me to sound finished before he made any comment at all.

“What I’m trying to say is, seeing you and Sarek having a normal conversation, knowing you’re on good terms… It just makes me so happy.  I mean, I don’t know what exactly you were talking _about_ , but I’m so grateful that he finally respects you for who you are, that he finally seems to appreciate what an incredible person you are.”

A sudden gust of wind ruffled his hair as a low-flying shuttle cruised overhead, on its way toward Richmond by the looks of it.  I reached up to smooth his perfect, silken hair back down, letting myself linger in the gesture longer than was absolutely necessary.  It earned me a reassuring hum from Spock’s throat, though, so I figured it was alright.

“And I’m so proud of you; I always have been.  I’m proud of you for not letting anyone—even your father—dictate your life choices to you.  I’m so, so grateful that you married me despite his obvious disapproval of me.  But more than that, I’m proud of you for never giving up on him, on your relationship with him.”

I could feel him thinking about cutting in, but I couldn’t stop.

“Family is just such a huge thing in Human culture.  And I know I’m no paragon, I’m not a… a family man by anyone’s standards.  I couldn’t get to Sam and Aurelan until it was too late.  I was the uncle that Peter barely even recognized the few times I got to see him while he was growing up.  And worst of all, I…”  My teeth clenched momentarily of their own volition.  “I made for a dreadful father myself.”

When Spock opened his mouth to interrupt, I silenced him with a halting hand gesture.

“But maybe _because_ of that, maybe because I know David resented me, and because I resented myself for not being the kind of father to him that my dad was for me… it means so much to me that you’ve reconciled with yours.”

For a good ninety seconds, we walked in relative silence.  The scrape of our boots against the weathered pavement was the only sound issued by either of us until Spock drew in and slowly let out a long breath.

“As I must have told you before,” he said, “Carol played a substantial part in what you see as your own failure as a parent.  _She_ forbade you from ever seeing or speaking with your own son, even though she clearly knew that it was profoundly painful for you.  And I know you are intellectually aware that _she_ was the culpable party in that situation, but I will repeat it as often as I must in order for it to… sink in.  Emotionally.”

I could always count on Spock to stick up for me, and I had to admit I sort of sadistically enjoyed the acidic tone his voice still took on whenever he mentioned Carol’s name.

 _Dr. McCoy’s evaluation of her was overwhelmingly accurate_ , he thought to me, _when she gradually shut you out of David’s life in the early days of our friendship._

 _What do you mean, his evaluation of her?_ I responded.

_If memory serves, his exact words were, “She really is a bitch and a half, Jim.”_

Well, he had gotten me smiling again in spite of the heavy subject.

“I am sure you will see this as beside the point,” he resumed, “but you were most certainly not a failure as a parent.”  He squeezed my hand, and I had to focus hard on the lights across the dark bay to avoid getting choked up.  “Setting aside the fact that David told you himself he was proud to be your son, he also proved himself worthy of that designation by both his dignified life and noble death.”

My chest constricted and I cringed at myself.  I knew I shouldn’t have brought any of this up.

Spock pulled me to an abrupt stop and slipped his fingers away from mine for the first time in the last hour.   He gently anchored my face between his hands, commanding my gaze with his tenderness and his passion.

“It is thanks to the reconciliation of a son to his father that I am alive,” he said, his voice blissfully caressing my ears like a well-aged Saurian brandy caressed the throat.  “It would be illogical to avoid reconciliation with my own father simply for past quarrels and misunderstandings.”

We were quiet as I let my brain process what Spock was saying.  While he watched me think, he slipped his hand back into mine and lured me onward.

“An honorable man saved my life,” he said, “and taught me a valuable lesson about forgiveness.  How could I give up on my father—whom I always respected, even during our eighteen-year estrangement—when David, who barely had the chance to learn of your splendor, never gave up on you?”

I had no idea how to respond.  Spock was always saying things like that, things that made me seem like a far better person than I’ve ever been.  At times like this, I was grateful he was willing to endure my leaning into him, in need of support as we progressed along the mercifully empty seawall.

“Jim,” he said after a few moments.  He stopped walking again and pivoted to look at me in a strange manner, his brow furrowed and his eyes seeming almost sad.  With the briefest probing of our bond, I noticed he was deliberately keeping me blind to whatever it was he was thinking.

While he contemplated me, I glanced over his shoulder and saw that we had walked to the last bench along the Green’s north edge, the last place to stop and admire the bay without a bunch of docked sailboats breaking the line of sight.  We’d sat here a few times before; it was a breathtaking place to watch the sun setting behind the Golden Gate Bridge in silhouette.

Slowly, as if he was still trying to make up his mind about something, he placed his free hand on top of our resumed _el’ru’esta_.  Not saying a word, and not breaking eye contact even long enough to blink, he pulled me, ever so gently, toward the bench.  When he started to sit, I followed suit, except where I pressed up against the backrest, he perched by my knees and faced me as well as he could.

“Are you okay?” I had to ask, covering his thigh with my left hand in concern.

“Do you truly still believe that my father disapproves of you?”

Of all the things I had thought he might say.

“Wha—I just… I mean, he never… It’s, um…”  I blubbered a few more incoherent syllables, then finished with a timid, “Doesn’t he?”

My husband’s eyes softened.  Without warning, he pulled his knees up, folding his legs over my lap, and curled up close to my side to burrow his face into my neck.  I gasped at his willingness to initiate _here_ the kind of snuggling that we only ever used to do in our private quarters or our apartment.

Shock and awe aside, I gladly stroked his arm in encouragement: it had snaked across my chest and was hugging me with the sophisticated kind of paradoxically tender strength only a Vulcan could wield.  I sifted my fingers through his luxurious fleecy hair and laid a kiss on the crown of his head.  He smelled extraordinary, like eucalyptus and amber and spiced plums.

It was beyond my comprehension how Spock could manage to be, by Human standards, adopting the position of physical vulnerability yet actually playing the emotionally dominant consoler all at once.

“No,” he mumbled against my throat.  “No, James.  My father does not disapprove of you.  He… _adores_ you.”

I scoffed with a grin.  “Despite what you tell everyone else, I _know_ Vulcans are capable of lying.  And you’re really losing your touch at it.”

He looked up at me totally unamused, his eyes dark and mesmerizing, his skin radiating an indigo solemnity everywhere it touched mine.  “I would not lie to you about this.”

A chill ran down my spine at the quiet severity of his tone.  “ _Ha’su_ ,” I said.  Not sure what else to add, I settled for stroking his jaw with my thumb and simply breathing him in.

“Before we departed from headquarters this evening,” he said, resting his head against my shoulder, “he told me a few things he has never made clear to me before, things which he said he wished he’d told me before I died.  Things he still had not found the wherewithal to say after my restoration, before we left Vulcan.”

The hand on my waist was rhythmically kneading into me like a cat with a blanket.  Rubbing my own hand up and down his outer thigh where it crossed over my lap, I let my head lean against Spock’s as he continued.

“He said his judgment of my decision to join Starfleet had been incorrect.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No,” Spock said, “but I was equally surprised by the revelation.”

My grip on his leg tightened.  “I can’t believe he finally admitted to making that kind of a mistake.”

Spock was oddly quiet.

“It _was_ a mistake on his part,” I said.  “Enlisting was what you wanted to do, what you believed was the right thing to do.  As your parent, he should have supported your decision whether it was what he’d hoped for or not.  Plus…”  Here, I pulled my hand up to brush his bangs away from his forehead, then leaned in and kissed his cool, pale skin.  “If you hadn’t chosen Starfleet over the VSA, we might never have met.”

He mooned up at me, his face full of innocent wonder.  I couldn’t help but think he looked almost childlike, his eyes wide and glistening in the starlight.

“I know sometimes it’s hard to believe that you did what you had to do,” I said, “particularly when someone you trust disagrees with your actions and tells you as much in no uncertain terms.  And I know it’s hard to accept that your father is fallible.  But that’s the Human part of you doubting itself, and doubting that he was ever wrong.  I know your Vulcan half knows that _he_ was the one who was being unreasonable by expecting you to follow the path he planned for you.  You did nothing wrong by setting goals of your own and pursuing the career that you dreamed of.”  To punctuate my point, I kissed his forehead again, leaving my lips there a while longer than the first time.

“You joining Starfleet,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to his, “is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He closed his eyes and smiled.  It was such an enchanting sight that I dragged my fingers over his curved lips before just barely touching them with my own.

 _How do you always know what I need to hear?_ Spock said in our minds even as he arched up into me and opened his lips to gently suck my tongue in.

 _Being Human has its advantages every now and then,_ I responded.

Releasing my side, Spock traced over my wedding band while we kissed.  Not wanting him to completely surrender to his lust, I distracted his fingers—which were clearly seeking an _ozh’esta_ to complement what our mouths were busy doing—by interlacing them with mine.  He peeled himself from my face a moment later, fluttering his exquisitely long, dark eyelashes and fidgeting his weight around.  (The angle was definitely awkward for kissing; my neck would pay for that in the morning, I was sure.  And the hands that were trapped between our bodies were clutching each other so tightly I worried we might both lose feeling in them.)

“He was also impressed,” he said, “by our solution to this latest threat against Earth.”

 _Who?_ I thought, recovering from the stirrings he had caused in my heart and below my belt.

“Hm,” I said when I remembered what we had been talking about.  “Did you tell him you were the one who figured the whole thing out, deciphered that it was whale song?”

“I did not, as we all figured it out together.”  My husband had always been one of the most diplomatic people I’d ever met.

“I beg to differ with you on that point,” I said, “but I’ll call him sometime and set the record straight.”

He gave me a playful eyebrow raise while I shifted his hand to my chest and tried to wiggle my right hand just to make sure it was still functioning.  (No worries; although it did feel a bit sore from being crushed, the slight pain was unequivocally worth it.)

“He then expressed that he feels our crew are people of good character.”

I smiled at my ethereally beautiful spouse, clutching his thigh again.  “Well, he’s right about _that_ , anyway.”

“I corrected him, however.”

“Excuse me?” I said, incredulous to think that Spock might in any way disagree with such an accurate estimation of our colleagues.

“He called them our associates.”  At my troubled squint, he finished, “I reminded him that they are not merely our associates, but our friends.”

Relief, understanding, and joy blossomed through my whole body, and I beamed down at him.  “We really hit the jackpot with those five, didn’t we?”  It was really more of a statement than a question.

“It takes a most distinguished personality to elicit such a flattering endorsement from father, yes.”

Before I could stop myself from thinking it, the selfish desire I’d harbored for decades flitted between us.

_I wish he felt that way about me._

“Not only did he offer his approval of _them_ ,” Spock said gently, lowering his head down onto my collarbone again.  “He also assured me verbally that he admires _you_ a great deal, and that he has always been pleased with our coupling.”

Somehow, by circling back around to my initial concern so sneakily, he’d gotten me to almost allow his words to convince me this time.  His hand slithered between the layers of my open tunic and drew languid, comforting circles against my heart while I recalibrated myself, mind blank and eyes unseeing.

“During our exile in Shi’Kahr,” he said, “he assisted me several times in recovering my memories and retraining my intellect.  On more than one occasion, I felt as if he… wished to say something to me, but then held back.  The melds we shared in the course of my convalescence revealed that there was indeed some topic with which he was preoccupied, but the nature of which he was reluctant to divulge.”

I rested my hand on Spock’s knee, still unable to speak.

“I suspected that it was something concerning you, as it was a thought tinged with equal parts remorse, pride, and gratitude, and mixed in with the same color of all his thoughts regarding me.”

“That could just as easily have been about your joining Starfleet,” I mumbled, determined that my father-in-law had despised me all along.

“I conjectured that as well,” Spock said, “until I felt this particular thought in his mind swirl with the happiness he has always compartmentalized as exclusively related to my mother.”

My own head was swirling by now with the effort of trying to comprehend such complex metaphysical constructs—things that Humans have no frame of reference for or natural ability to conceptualize.  However, I could easily understand having a special brand of happiness specific to the gracious and compassionate Lady Amanda.

“What I mean,” Spock said, obviously picking up on my disorientation, “is that I know my father’s mind quite well.  It is organized very precisely, and it has very seldom indicated to me—even accidentally—any trace of sentimentality.  His reactions to our first arguments over my career, for example, were ordered and logical.  The few times I glimpsed his perceptions of my bonding with you, those were likewise objectively aloof.  But every thought in his mind having anything to do with mother… has always possessed at least some amount of what he himself identified as bliss many, many years ago when I was a curious child first learning the telepathic disciplines.”

I was still confused, perhaps even more after his explanation than I had been before it.

“So,” he continued, “when I saw this thought he was guarding from me emanate the bliss he only ever associates with his marriage to my mother, I suspected… I _deduced_ that it must somehow be about you, about our union and our love.”

My mouth had gone dry and I felt my hand trembling on Spock’s knee.

“Jim,” he said, pressing firmly against my chest and raising his head to look me in the eye.  “As it turns out, I was correct.  What he told me an hour ago in the Council Chamber was flavored in the very same manner as the thought I had witnessed distressing his mind on Vulcan.  I have long awaited, long desired an explicit and unambiguous admission of approval from him in regards to our relationship, as I know you have as well.”

He slipped his hand from my tunic to cover my shaking one on his leg.  Concentrating his touch into a soothing massage of my ring finger, he closed his eyes for a beat and licked his lips.  The ecstasy I felt at his caress mingled with its counterpart issuing from Spock’s exceedingly touch-sensitive libido.

“I know you have always felt… nervous around my father,” he said.

I knew better than to try and deny that.  Spock had seen it in my mind and in my body language a million times by now.

“Thus,” he said, “I profoundly hope it will put you at ease to know that before we bid one another farewell this evening, he put aside his stoicism—which I know you understand he values very highly—to offer an uncharacteristically emotional and humble confession.”

The lights of Sausalito glittered attractively straight across the bay from where we sat, so cozy and safe in one another’s arms.  A vaguely melancholic feeling of never wanting the moment to end swept over me.

 _Let me see your green-bronze eyes, my love,_ Spock thought.

Unwilling to deny him anything, I faced him, but with a bashfulness I had seldom felt before.

 _Spellbinding,_ he murmured, causing me to blush so powerfully I could feel it.

“Father confided to me,” he said, holding every last ounce of my attention captive, “that he is proud of my excellent mate selection, grateful that I fell in love with such a remarkable man as you, and vicariously happy every time he sees us together and witnesses firsthand the joy that our marriage and bonding bring to both of us.”

 _As a matter of fact,_ he thought to me with an indulgent smirk, _he sounded almost jealous of our passion._

I smirked back and waited for him to continue.

“He expressed deep regret at never having shared his true feelings with either of us before.  And he said he has always admired you as an officer, but that his respect for you pales in comparison with his thankfulness toward you for the purpose, fulfillment, security, and bliss he can so clearly see you have brought to my life ever since you asked me to be your husband.”

My heart jammed itself unpleasantly into the base of my throat as I marveled at the thought of someone as divine as Spock actually falling for someone like me.

“Spock…” I breathed, incapable of saying anything more.

“I believe,” he added, “it was his reserved way of saying… he appreciates you taking care of me.”

We were both quiet for a few glorious minutes, just absorbing the whisper of water against the seawall in front of us, the warmth of the night air, the rainbow arpeggios of our mutual rapture going off like sparklers in our shared mental space.  His fingers worked their way into my hair and stimulated every follicle and nerve they touched.

 _I love you so much,_ I thought, still not trusting myself to speak.  _More than words can express, more than I can even understand…_

 _I love you in much the same way,_ kahs’khior’i _._

He very slowly sat up and cupped the back of my head, looking rapidly between my eyes and my lips before kissing me with so much tenderness I’m surprised it didn’t kill me.  I held onto him desperately, never wanting to let go of him.  _Ever_.

“Not to change the subject,” he said without further preamble when he pulled away, “but did I see Dr. Taylor kiss you in the Council Chamber?”

He tugged my arm and we stood up, sweeping our hands over one another’s tunics to flatten them back down.  (And maybe to cop a little feel.)

My face burned and I grinned despite myself.  “She’s a nice girl, isn’t she.”

“Indeed, she is.  But that does not answer my question.”

Even though I knew he was just pulling my leg, I still appreciated Spock stroking my ego with his feigned jealousy.

I gave him a sheepish smile.  “Just on the cheek.”

“Pity—for her,” he said.

I laughed and breathed in a large gulp of the salty breeze, taking a last good look at the bay, as usual, before we resumed our walk inland for the last few blocks.  But as I turned my gaze to take in the bridge and headquarters in the distance and started walking in the opposite direction, I clumsily bumped into Spock, who hadn’t yet moved.  As I apologized, he took my elbows in his hands and brought his lips tantalizingly close to mine again.

“I mean that,” he said before pressing our mouths together in earnest.

I fisted my hands in the front of his tunic, even more eager now to get him home and into bed.  (Or was _he_ the one taking _me_ to bed?  Not that I was keeping track anymore, like I had for a while when we were in our thirties.)

When I broke our kiss in order to breathe, and I saw his delicious tongue slip back behind his teeth, he said, “She is truly… missing out.”

By the time I registered his meaning, he was running his lips along the shell of my ear, tickling my whole limbic system with another quiet sample of his purr.  His ability to maintain coherent thoughts during foreplay still astounded me.

“And for the record,” he added, his voice sending an excited raining-confetti shiver down my spine, “ _I_ am taking _you_ to bed.”  He pulled back to look me in the eye and no doubt saw the poorly disguised arousal written all over me.  “Captain.”

That did it.  My old title, my proper title—no more of that _admiral_ nonsense.  No longer caring about my body’s responses to him, I turned to jelly in his arms this time, but he caught me with a firm hand on the small of my back and brought our bodies, hands, and mouths together again for another kiss.

“Assuming you can make it the rest of the way,” he said with a cute little chuckle, ending the kiss too soon and staring at the front of my pants.  “Or shall I carry you, given your condition?”

I could see the mischief in my own eyes reflected in his.  “Lead on, Captain,” I said, with only a fraction of his suavity.  “But let’s be quick about it.”

“Acknowledged,” he said, pulling me along after him at a playful sprint.

.

.

.

*****

Vulcan translations:

 _fal-tor-pan_ = refusion of body and _katra_ (i.e. the Vulcan ritual whereby Spock’s soul is transferred out of McCoy and into Spock’s new body at the end of _Star Trek III_ )  
_ozh’esta_ = finger embrace, a touching of the index and middle fingers between bondmates  
_ashal-veh_ = darling, beloved  
_glantau_ = to watch (used playfully here to mean “be careful” or “watch it”)  
_osu_ = sir; a form of polite address for a man (used here with _glantau_ to mean, loosely, “watch it, mister” ;))  
_adun_ = husband  
_ha’su_ = angel (in my head canon, one of Kirk’s favored pet names for Spock)  
_t’hy’la_ = friend/brother/lover  
_katra_ = spirit/soul; the living essence of a Vulcan; a combination of soul and memory  
_el’ru’esta_ = hand embrace; a crossing of the wrists and touching of palms by _t’hy’la_ or family  
_pon farr_ = Vulcan mating time; occurs generally once every seven years  
_t’kam’la_ = a student who is cherished as a daughter or son  
_k’diwa_ = shortened form of _k’hat’n’dlawa_ , which means “one who is half of my heart and soul” in its deepest sense; equated to the Terran term “beloved”  
_Kolinahr_ = rigorous training program in Vulcan’s Gol Province to purge oneself of all emotion  
Shi’Kahr = Spock’s birthplace and the capital city of Vulcan  
_tal-kam_ = dear; a beloved person; used as a term of endearment  
VSA = the Vulcan Science Academy  
_kahs’khior’i_ = shooting star (in my head canon, one of Spock’s favored pet names for Kirk)

*All translations taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary at https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/

**Author's Note:**

> (See above for Vulcan translations... they wouldn't fit here, so I had to bump them up! @_@)
> 
> This story was born from the fact that I get fruity as a nutcake for Spock and Sarek’s conversation at the end of _The Voyage Home_ every damn time. (“Your associates are people of good character.” “They are my friends.” _Be still, my heart!!!_ ) And come on, you _know_ that when Spock and Kirk walk out of the Council Chamber in that last shot, they’re _totally_ supposed to be holding hands. Go watch it and just _look_ at them. They’re practically on top of each other. :)
> 
> Per the great and powerful Memory Alpha, Butler (Kirk’s Great Dane seen in _Star Trek: Generations_ ) passes away in 2286—so, presumably, shortly before or after this story takes place… hence Kirk’s desire to spend as much time with his “old dog” as possible. Sorry if that bummed anybody out.
> 
> Fun fact regarding Spock’s comment to Kirk on the attractiveness of his unclasped uniform: _Wrath of Khan_ director Nicholas Meyer liked the open flaps on the redesigned Starfleet tunics because he felt the lighter color of the reverse side framed the actors’ faces better than the broad spread of maroon fabric. For more cool tidbits (!), here’s my source: http://forgottentrek.com/redesigning-starfleets-uniforms-for-star-trek-ii/
> 
> Also from Memory Alpha: several of the studio’s personnel were decidedly unimpressed with the décor of Spock’s quarters in _The Wrath of Khan_ , production designer Joe Jennings even saying that the huge mosaic IDIC on the wall made the whole set feel like an opium den (a comment with which Leonard Nimoy himself agreed, adding that he felt it was “cheesy”). I have personally always rather liked the mirrored mosaic thing (come on, it’s _shiny!!!_ ), but given Nimoy’s disdain for it, I figured it wouldn’t be a far cry to assume Spock also disliked it. That’s why I justified its existence here as having been a gift to him from some bright-tailed, bushy-eyed (and very Human) Academy grads whose hearts were bigger than their aesthetic tastes—because if Spock didn’t even like it to begin with, why else would he have decorated his quarters with it??
> 
> Kirk’s use of the term _Standard_ refers to Federation Standard English, which is the not-quite-canonical “universal” language of the UFP. Rather like the theories on Vulcans having evolved from feline ancestors and chocolate/sugary foods having “dubious effects” on Spock, it’s not clearly defined in the main _Trek_ universe… but I like it, so I gave it a little nod. :) (Could you tell that the Vulcans-are-descended-from-cats theory is _very important_ to me???)
> 
> In my head canon, Kirk and Spock call one another by terms of endearment from their own cultures for the first several years of their relationship/marriage. (E.g. in their 30s and 40s, Kirk mostly calls Spock things like _honey_ and _sweetheart_ , while Spock calls Kirk things like _ashal-veh_ and _k’diwa_.) But as they age, they gradually (subconsciously?) switch to calling each other by the names they’ve learned by, you know, being so in love with each other. Therefore, by the time this story occurs, I have each of them—for the most part—using pet names from the other’s birth culture. :)
> 
> I literally cringe every time I’m reminded that the writers were nauseatingly close to putting a Saavik pregnancy in _Star Trek IV_ after her “intimate” scene with the teenaged Spock in _Star Trek III_. If you ask me, that made for one of the most prudent excisions of cinematic material in the history of cinema. For real, I thanked God multiple times just while writing this story for the fact that actual _Star Trek_ canon does not include a Saavik/Spock romance. Because EW!! Hopefully that casts a little light on my long explanation of the _pon farr_ loophole in the middle of the story. ;) I also may have taken a little liberty with the female _pon farr_ , as it’s been a _long_ time since I watched _Enterprise_ (where we find out T’Pol goes through it), so if I got some canonical information wrong on that front, sorry not sorry. XD
> 
> Please don’t hate me for being totally goo-goo-ga-ga for a 53-year-old Kirk who is still insecure enough to take his Vulcan father-in-law’s aloofness personally and as an indication of disdain toward him. Part of what I like about insecure!Kirk is that it _is_ unexpected and somewhat uncharacteristic for him to have that kind of an irrational weakness. Although, tell me honestly: what Human— _besides_ Lady Amanda—would interact with Sarek and feel like he really, genuinely _liked_ them? LOL
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed my little attempt at portraying one little part of the greatest love story of them all. <3 <3 <3


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